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Just Me
Child abuse left me with a variety of problems, as you can imagine. One particularly charming souvenir was petit mal epilepsy; I guess maybe repeated suffocation, frequent starving, and lots of head trauma isn't great for a developing brain. But all that was well behind me by the time I met my husband--well, all but the seizures. They weren't the kind you see on TV. Those, the ones that make a person lose consciousness and lie spasming on the ground, those are tonic-clinic seizures. Instead, from the age of twelve, I had partial complex seizures. I would become disoriented and confused; muscles in my right arm or leg or my core would twitch; sometimes odd noises would escape my mouth as it contorted into odd shapes. They could last anywhere from a few seconds to three or four minutes, and leave me utterly exhausted each time. For years, I doubted whether anyone could love me despite my condition. The trauma of my past made it even harder to believe I might eventually find happiness with another person. When I met Jason, all of that changed. He seemed to genuinely care about me. He told me he loved my eyes, my sense of humor, my strength. The night he proposed was the second happiest of my life. The night of our wedding was even better. He knew from the beginning that I had seizures. They were fairly frequent, and he'd seen it happen many times before we got engaged. Most of the time he would calmly wait it out, then hold me close afterwards. Sometimes, though, he would look a little frightened when I regained awareness, and would tell me I had looked "possessed." When my head would snap to the side, or my face would screw up with a guttural growl, or my hand would contort like a crone's gnarled claw, he would flinch and look at me in fear. Sometimes I worried he might decide I was a demon and throw me out of the house. Not too seriously; it was one of those late-night fears that tell you it's long past time for sleep. Marriage isn't easy. We hit rocks in our relationship the way all couples do, and neither of us handled them well. There were fights. There was hostility. Sometimes we got over it, sometimes we just got tired and put the resentment on a back burner to simmer until the next time dinner was late or the seat was left up. Eventually that simmering resentment seemed like all we had in common. But still, we slept in each other's arms each night. Neither of us could stand to sleep alone. One night, I felt the floating, lost sensation that warned me of an impending seizure. I felt my facial muscles tighten, my neck pull to the side, a moan building in my throat. The next few minutes are hard to remember. I only remember slowly becoming aware, but still feeling choked. Jason's hands. My own husband's hands. They were wrapped around my neck, choking me. No! It was happening! My ridiculous fears were coming true! Frightened by my episode, he had attacked! I would die before we ever made up. Jason would be plagued with guilt forever. I had to stop him! Exhausted from the seizure, I mustered all the strength I had left to look Jason in the eyes and mouth the words, "Stop, it's me." Looking deep into my eyes, Jason said gently, "Yes, I know." My last mortal memory is of him smiling as he tightened his grip. It wasn't easy to plant a message here, but I thought it was only fair to send a warning. My husband is Jason Warren, age 32. If you see him, tell him Tina sent him a message. Tell him he was perfectly safe that night, because it wasn't a demon or monster, it was just me. Tell him he will be much less safe the next time he sees me. For the exact same reason. Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta